Miscellaneous News

#This&That&TheOtherThing – #BlogBreaks – #GuestDayTuesdays – #Excerpts

/ Marcia Meara / 52 Comments

Time for a quick catch-up, since I’ve nothing scheduled for today, but do have a few things I’d like to mention. Here goes!

THIS

Just a quick reminder that this week, my blog break day is Friday, so while I might check my email to see if there are urgent things awaiting me, I really won’t be around much too much.

THAT

Just want to remind you again that I’m ready to start scheduling #GuestDayTuesday guest posts for those of you who have something writing-related you’d like to share. I’m flexible on content for this one. Could be a new release or a cover reveal. Could be part of an upcoming blog tour. Could be you’d like to promote one of your books via your blurb and an excerpt. And it could also be something you’d just like to share about the process of writing and publishing. As always, I’ll include your bio, photo, cover, and all Buy Links and Social Media Links, so you’ll get some exposure that way, as well. For complete info, check General Blog Rules and Various Feature Instructions

THE OTHER THING

Another blog feature I plan to resurrect in the weeks ahead is “Excerpt Week,” wherein you are invited to share a favorite excerpt from one of your books, along with all of the Usual Stuff to promote the book.  I will, of necessity, limit the number of posts per day to two, so there will only be 14 spots booked for the week. But if it’s as much fun as it used to be, I will schedule it more often. And to get you in the mood, here’s an excerpt from my 3rd Wake-Robin Ridge book, Harbinger, which deals with the legend of the Black Dog as a harbinger of death. Happy reading!


***

Early June, 1994
North Carolina Mountains

~~~ 

           With a loud whoosh, the doors pulled closed on the big, yellow bus, and it rumbled down the old, two-lane highway, leaving the shrieks and laughter of the last few kids hanging in the muggy air. Sissy Birdwell stood on the dusty berm, waving goodbye to friends she wouldn’t see again until the fall, and watched the bus disappear around the curve.
          Reluctant to start the mile-long hike up the narrow, red clay road toward her home, she kicked aimlessly at some pebbles and twigs. Part of her was happy her mother had finally agreed she was old enough to walk home alone. After all, she was eight years old now, and certainly able to find her way to their house, which waited at the very end of the steep track. Another part of her shivered at the thought of the lonely, winding road ahead, which curved higher and higher through the thick woods, until it reached their clearing near the top of the ridge.
          She would never tell her mama this, but the dark beneath the trees scared her. She was afraid of bears. And coyotes. And snakes. And lots of other things that might want to share the road with her on an early June afternoon. But nobody in the whole Birdwell family would understand that, not even the women. They’d been part of these mountains forever, and she was sure nothing scared them at all.
          Of course, she could wait around for the second bus, then walk home with her brother—but that would be like admitting she was still a baby. No way she’d do that. So she squared her shoulders, and trudged up the drive toward home, refusing to look at the dusty trees and bushes that crowded close on either side. Instead, she pictured the litter of tiny pups their hound had presented them with last week, and tried to guess if any might have opened their eyes today.
          Thinking about cuddling those precious babies with their sweet puppy breath warm on her face made Sissy walk a bit faster, kicking up puffs of reddish dust from the dirt road. As she rounded the first broad curve, she saw a lone figure coming toward her. Even from a distance, the way the sun glinted on his coppery hair told her it was Cadey Hagen, the son of their nearest neighbor, but what he was doing on their drive, she wasn’t sure. The Hagen cabin was a good ways down the eastern slope of the ridge.
          “Hey, Sissy. You just gettin’ home from school?”
          “Hey, Cadey. Yeah. Sorry you missed the last day party.”
          He snorted. “Who needs them ol’ cupcakes, anyway? ‘specially if you gotta eat ‘em in a room full of stupid little kids.”
         “Wasn’t all little kids. All the grades were there, an’ the cupcakes were pretty good, too. Why’d you skip it?”
         He scowled, kicking at the dirt in disgust. “Didn’t skip it. Ol’ Lady Bratton suspended me for the last three days, just cuz she found me smokin’ behind the washroom.”
          “Oh. Didn’t know you got suspended. I heard you were in trouble, though. Only I heard it was because you had you a knife at school, and then you smart-mouthed Miz Bratton when she caught you.”
          “Well, she deserved it, dang ol’ biddy. Was only an ol’ Buck knife. Everybody carries ‘em. It don’t matter none to me, though. She’s the one gonna be sorry.”
          Sissy wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but she’d heard the bigger kids say Cadey was a boy you didn’t want to get on the wrong side of, so she kept quiet.
          Oh, he looked innocent enough, with his gap-toothed grin, freckled face, and jug ears poking out from under a thatch of hair that was more red than blond. He reminded Sissy of Opie Taylor, from the television reruns of the Andy Griffith Show, except older. Maybe twelve. She didn’t really believe he’d hurt anyone. Still, something told her not to ask any questions.
          They talked about school a moment or two, then Cadey made an announcement. “I got a secret. I’d tell you, but you ain’t old enough to trust with it.”
          Of all the things he could have said, implying she was still a little girl was the one guaranteed to get a rise out of Sissy. “Am so old enough! Ain’t nobody can make me tell a secret, Cadey Hagen. Why’re you grinnin’ like that? I wanna know.”
          “Just thinkin’. How old are you, anyway?”
          “I’m eight, an’ I know how to pinkie swear, an’ everything. I ain’t gonna blab your old secret. Probably isn’t all that good, anyway.”
          Now, Cadey was insulted. “Is so. Might be the best secret I ever had. You’d be pretty surprised, I bet.”
         They stood, indignant, in the middle of the dirt road, hands on hips, glaring at each other, then Cadey cocked his head. “What’s your real name, anyway?”
          “Cecelia Ann Birdwell. Why?”
          Cadey looked her up and down. The two of them were a study in contrasts, and Sissy scowled at the boy, as he took in her long black braids, tied with red cotton bows, and her smooth, tan skin, so different from his pale, freckled complexion. Even her tip-tilted black eyes, which clearly showed the Cherokee heritage in her family, contrasted sharply with his bright blue ones. When he finished his inspection, he seemed to have come to a decision.
          “Well, Cecelia Ann Birdwell, do you swear you’ll never tell? Hope to die? Lightnin’ strike you in the eye?”
          She huffed out a breath. “Yes. I swear I won’t tell nobody, hope to die, an’ lightnin’ strikes, an’ all. Now what’s your big ol’ secret?”
          “Come with me, then, an’ I’ll show you.”
          Without a moment’s hesitation, Sissy Birdwell took Cadey Hagen’s outstretched hand, followed him into the woods … and never came out again.

And there you have today’s This & That & The Other Thing
Hope you’ll start thinking about doing a #GuestDayTuesday soon,
and consider some excerpts for an upcoming #ExcerptWeek post, too.
Have a great day!

 

#ThorsdaySmile – #Humor – #AmLaughing

/ Marcia Meara / 24 Comments

Every other Thorsday, I share various humorous memes I’ve found over the years. Today, I decided to go all in, and share only memes with something to do with my favorite hammer-wielding god, pictured above. Yes, Thor, the god for whom this day of the week is actually named. So … in celebration of all things related to THIS particular son of Odin, here are a few memes I’ve found. Note to Mae: You might want to avert your eyes, but hopefully, most others will enjoy them. (Okay, I snuck a few bits in about you know who, but I kept them pretty Low Key. *snort*)

(Works for ME!)

And on that note, I’ll just wish you all —

 

#ThisAndThat – #AndThatOtherThing

/ Marcia Meara / 63 Comments

Hi, Folks! Hope you’re all having a great Wodin’s Day, and things are going along at least fairly smoothly for most of you. Just wanted to take a moment to catch you up a bit on a few things.

THIS: First things first. After well over 20 years of blogging (since before they were called blogs, and were usually referred to as Bulletin Boards), I’ve finally been forced to admit that I’m having a lot of trouble juggling all the things I’m trying to do these days. Once you’ve fallen behind, catching up is next to impossible, as I’m sure many of you have experienced from time to time. So, with that in mind–and after having read several articles and blog posts on the subject–I’ve decided I need to take blog breaks now and then.

This is to let you know that I’m aiming for one day a week, and while I’ll be flexible according to what I have going on, I’ll probably take them on Thursdays or Fridays, depending on what I’ve got scheduled that week. For instance, this week I have ThorsDaySmile scheduled tomorrow, so I’ll take my day off this Friday. Next week, I have #GrannySays scheduled for Friday, so I’ll take it on that Thursday. Alternating between Thursdays and Fridays should work, because I do like to be on hand to respond to comments on days when I have something posted.

I’m hoping I can get myself dug out of this crater I’m in, and maybe even get back to work on my novella, Cole, Cole, & Dupree. (I miss Rabbit!) Wish me luck! 😊

AND THAT: Next, I want to remind you that I still have some fall openings for the #TenThingsList series, so if you’d like to take part, just drop me an email and we’ll find a date to hold for you. (I won’t need your actual post until a week before it’s due to go live.)

I’d also like to let you know that I’m ready to start scheduling #GuestDayTuesday posts again (like the one Amy Reade shared yesterday.) I’m pretty flexible with those, as they are meant to help you in all sorts of ways. If you have a new release, if you want to generate some interest in an older book, if you have a cover reveal, or an event coming up you want to promote–#GuestDayTuesday is perfect for that. Just email me so we can choose a date that will work for both our schedules, and I’ll happily share your good news with the Immediate World.

AND THAT OTHER THING: Last, I’m leaving you with some words of advice I hope you’ll take to heart. If you live in the southeastern part of the country, you’ll understand exactly what I mean when I caution you to WATCH YOUR STEP when outside. While planting a new hedge this weekend, I stepped into a fire ant nest hidden below the mulch and got swarmed. I’m sure the neighbors were thrilled with my shrieking  and hollering as I danced around the yard, trying to get those Minions from the Dark Side off my feet. I did succeed, but not before I had 29 bites on one foot and 20 on the other. Now if you live in a part of the country where these miserable invasive ants have moved in, you’ll know how painful a fire ant bite is. The rest of you will have to take my word for it. See?

Fire ants attach themselves to you with their jaws, which hurts enough as it is, and then bend double and sting the HE** outta you.

Their venom is nasty enough to make awful sores, and many people are hospitalized if they are victims of too many bites or have an allergic reaction to them. They can kill small animals, and make children very, very sick. So, in spite of how bad these hurt and how long they’ll take to go away, I was actually lucky. (And I’ll keep telling myself that over and over until I stop shrieking “Yeah, RIGHT!” 

And there you have my very first This and That and That Other Thing post.
There will no doubt be more of these now and then.
Be afraid. Be very afraid!

#GuestDayTuesday – #A.M.Reade – #NewRelease – #ATraitorAmongUs

/ Marcia Meara / 67 Comments

Today, please help me welcome Amy Reade to The Write Stuff. Amy has a brand new book coming out (already up for pre-order) and she’d like to tell you more . Amy, the floor is yours!

Thank you, Marcia, for giving me the opportunity to talk to your readers about my upcoming release, A Traitor Among Us. It is the second book in my Cape May Historical Mystery Collection (the first book, Cape Menace, was released in 2020).

I have lived in Cape May County, New Jersey, since 2003. Cape May County is at the southern tip of the Jersey Shore, which you may be familiar with because of a certain, ahem, television reality show. Cape May County is nothing like the Jersey Shore portrayed on the small screen. My Jersey Shore is quiet, peaceful, and almost rural. We’re just 65 miles from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and not far from the Washington, DC-New York City corridor, but you’d never know it.

If you’ve ever heard of Cape May, it’s very likely because the entire city is a National Historic Landmark. It was America’s first seaside resort and even today, beautiful Victorian homes line the streets of town. It was a summer getaway spot for at least five US Presidents: Franklin Pierce, James Buchanan, Ulysses S. Grant, Chester Arthur, and Benjamin Harrison.

It was at my husband’s urging that I wrote my first book set in Cape May. As I researched the book, though, digging deep into the history of the area, it became clear that I couldn’t stop at one novel; the seed of an idea started to take root.

What I needed to do was write a group of novels set throughout the history of Cape May, and so the Cape May Historical Mystery Collection was born. The first book, Cape Menace, is set in 1714. Book Two, A Traitor Among Us, is set in 1777, during the American Revolution. The books are not a series—there is no character or plot thread that continues from one book to another. The only thing the novels have in common is their setting in Cape May County.

Very soon I’ll be starting Book Three, which is as yet untitled. I’ve got some ideas percolating for the mystery…but you’ll have to stay tuned for that.

I’m sharing with you the first chapter of A Traitor Among Us.  I hope you enjoy it.

 

September 24, 1777

It was long before dawn and I had not yet slept. There were so many thoughts tumbling through my anxious mind. I did not want to wake my sister with my tossing and turning, so I rose to start my chores for the day. I dressed quickly without the aid of the oil lamp, closed the bedroom door behind me with a soft thud, and hurried to the kitchen. I reached for my apron where it hung on a hook next to the back door and tied it over my skirts as I slipped outside.

I stood near the door for several moments, listening. The only sound was the occasional far-above rustling of bird wings as they flew toward the south in great flocks. Cold weather would be here soon. The bird songs I enjoyed in the daylight were absent, lending an unsettling hush to the darkness.

It was not unusual for me to be out-of-doors in the early morning, but this time was different. This time, not far away, I knew a stranger shared the darkness with me. A stranger who did not belong here. I hoped he was still asleep and that I could retrieve my washing tub without waking him. Something in my abdomen flipped over and twisted, reminding me to be quick and silent.

Fog swirled low above the ground. I hurried past the storehouse, which we were filling every day now with more bounty from the late summer’s crop of fruits and vegetables, and on toward the barn. The fog shifted, its wisps pulling apart and forming again as my shoes padded along the damp ground. I held my lantern aloft to dispel both the darkness and my relentless worries as I approached the barn that stood nestled against the woods that separated our home from the waters of the bay.

I set my lantern down to retrieve the heavy iron key from my pocket, before realizing with a start that the door was slightly ajar. I whirled around and peered into the darkness that had crept behind and surrounded me, but I heard nothing. Saw nothing.

I shook my head, chiding myself for my silly fears. Of course my brother, Jesse, had forgotten to lock the door.

It was Jesse’s job to take the animals out every morning and return them to the barn every evening. It was also his job to make sure the door was locked when the animals were inside the barn. I would not tell Mother or Father of this carelessness, but I would have to mention it to Jesse. For all we knew, a party of British soldiers might come foraging for supplies and livestock in the barn. I wondered if the stranger—Oliver Doolittle was his name, though speaking it left a sour taste behind—was inside. I presumed he was. He was lazy, so he was unlikely to be awake and moving about at such an early hour.

I placed the key back into my pocket and stooped to pick up the lantern again. I stepped gingerly into the gloom of the barn, taking care to be as quiet as possible. I listened for the snufflings and snortings of the animals and was relieved to hear their comforting murmurings. I approached the stalls and small pens, trying to count the animals in the darkness to make sure they were all there, but I abandoned my task after just a few moments. The animals, annoyed that I had awakened them, were making known their displeasure with a series of loud grunts, clucking, and lowing. I moved away as quickly as I dared, hoping their sounds had not awakened Oliver, whom I suspected—I hoped—was still asleep toward the rear of the barn. 

I did not relish being alone in the barn in daylight, let alone in the grim darkness of predawn and with the knowledge that Oliver slept nearby, so I made haste, as quietly as possible, to retrieve the washtub I had come for. It hung on the back wall. As I made my way toward it my skirts swished against rough-hewn boards, tendrils of hay that protruded from wooden mangers, and the large crates of corn husks that Prissy and I would soon use to make floor mats and stuff the mattresses in the guest rooms of the inn.

I stumbled as I reached the back wall. My lantern swung wildly in my hand and cast long, grotesque shadows on everything the dim light touched. I very nearly exclaimed aloud, but I caught myself in time and pressed my lips closed.

I reached for the washtub and set it down on the ground with a hushed thump as the lantern flame stabilized. I knew there was no hope that Oliver would remain asleep now.

Whatever had tripped me needed to be put away, since I knew I would be blamed if Mother came out and tripped, too. I picked up my skirts and searched the floor for the thing that had tripped me.

Looking down, a glance was all I needed.

A man lay at my feet.

When I saw his head cocked at a strange angle, his shirt front slashed in several places, and his eyes staring at me with a glassy emptiness, my horrified scream broke the morning stillness, reaching through the woods and echoing over the waters of Great Egg Harbor Bay.

BLURB:

September, 1777.

 The war for American independence rages just seventy miles away from the country inn and tavern owned by the Rutledge family in southern New Jersey. Tensions are running high between those who support the Continental Army and those who remain loyal to the English crown.

When Etta Rutledge stumbles upon the body of a ne’er-do-well British sympathizer on her family’s property, unsettling questions regarding her older brother, Jesse, begin to arise. What was his connection to the victim and why was he keen to keep it hidden?

Another shocking death, this time much closer to the heart of the family, draws Etta ever closer to unlocking the secrets swirling around her—secrets that someone will go to any length to protect…

Will Etta survive the discovery of the traitor in their midst?

You Can Buy A Traitor Among Us HERE

One final note…

I am pleased and honored to be part of Authors for Ukraine, a charity auction featuring books from 150+ authors. I invite you to visit https://www.facebook.com/AuthorsforUkraine and like the page.

From 8 a.m. on March 29th until 11 p.m. on April 12th, you’ll be able to bid on signed books from great writers. ALL PROCEEDS will benefit CARE’s Ukraine Crisis Fund.

Thank you!

(NOTE from TWS: Most of you know I don’t allow politics to come visiting here at The Write Stuff, but I believe helping these people in crisis to be a completely apolitical subject, and hope you’ll consider visiting the link Amy has provided above.)

Author Amy M. Reade

Amy M. Reade is the USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of cozy, historical, and Gothic mysteries.

A former practicing attorney, Amy discovered a passion for fiction writing and has never looked back. She has so far penned fourteen novels, including three standalone Gothic mysteries, the Malice series of Gothic novels, the Juniper Junction Holiday Mystery series, and the Cape May Historical Mystery collection. In addition to writing, she loves to read, cook and travel. Amy lives in New Jersey and is a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime.

You can find out more on her website at www.amymreade.com.

You Can Buy Amy’s Books HERE:

Cape May Historical Mystery Collection
Cape Menace: https://books2read.com/u/mv5ao6
A Traitor Among Us: https://books2read.com/u/3Ly6gw

Juniper Junction Cozy Holiday Mystery Series
The Worst Noel: https://books2read.com/u/brvGne
Dead, White, and Blue: https://books2read.com/u/bQR9Le
Be My Valencrime: https://books2read.com/u/bwvjjO
Ghouls’ Night Out: https://books2read.com/u/m2ZB86
MayDay!: https://books2read.com/u/mZeqBE

The Malice Series (Gothic)
The House on Candlewick Lane: https://www.amazon.com/House-Candlewick-Lane-Malice-Novel-ebook/dp/B01FBZXR3K/
Highland Peril: https://www.amazon.com/Highland-Peril-Malice-Novel-Book-ebook/dp/B01N9GF9WF/
Murder in Thistlecross: https://www.amazon.com/Murder-Thistlecross-Malice-Novel-Book-ebook/dp/B071L5C6C7/ 

Standalone Novels
Secrets of Hallstead House: https://www.amazon.com/Secrets-Hallstead-House-Amy-Reade-ebook/dp/B00IO3QR70/
The Ghosts of Peppernell Manor: https://www.amazon.com/Ghosts-Peppernell-Manor-Amy-Reade-ebook/dp/B00OEW5SR0/
House of the Hanging Jade: https://www.amazon.com/House-Hanging-Jade-Amy-Reade-ebook/dp/B0138NHCMO/
Trudy’s Diary: https://books2read.com/u/3k1rMO

You can reach Amy on Social Media HERE:
Website: www.amymreade.com
Blog: https://amreade.wordpress.com/
Facebook: www.facebook.com/amreadeauthor
Facebook: www.facebook.com/groups/AmyMReadesGothicFictionFans
Twitter: www.twitter.com/readeandwrite
Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/amreade
Instagram: www.instagram.com/amymreade
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Amy-M.-Reade/e/B00LX6ASF2/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0
Goodreads Page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8189243.Amy_M_Reade

#ThorsDaySmile #Humor #AmLaughing

/ Marcia Meara / 39 Comments

A bit late today, but I hope some of you still get a smile or two. Today, I decided to forego the more common themes and look for memes about birds. It was a harder search than I expected, but here a few you might enjoy!

And there you have it for this afternoon, folks! 
And Remember, keep smiling. It makes people wonder what you’re up to!

#Poetry – #Events – #Updates

/ Marcia Meara / 34 Comments

I’m pretty sure it’s not feeling like spring yet in much of the country, but down here in Florida, the weather is blissfully cool, without being cold, and perfect for gardening or relaxing outside. For the next few weeks, we can enjoy cool nights in the mid-40s and pleasant days in the 70 to 82 degree range. That’s cause for celebration as far as I’m concerned, so I decided to share a poem with you. This one has never made an appearance before, but I’m thinking of including it in a new poetry collection at some point. Hope you enjoy it.

POETRY

Outside or In

I may go out to the garden today,
Where the sun is bright in the watered silk sky,
And a ruby gem flits from tree to tree,
While a cardinal woos his love with burbling songs,
And goes about the business of building a nest,
Promising new life in the weeks ahead.

I may go out to the garden today.
The dog days of summer are drawing near,
Threatening to bake the roses,
Scorch the herbs, and wither the grass,
In a sweltering, impossible heat,
Which will trap me inside by the end of June.

I may go out to the garden today,
To sip icy tea from a sweating glass,
Catching my breath between the chores,
Pruning and weeding, and raking the paths,
Racing the pages of the calendar,
As they flip through the last days of spring.

I may go out to the garden today.
Or maybe I’ll laze indoors, instead,
Beside the window, in a comfy chair,
The stack of books nearby a siren call,
Luring me to open their covers,
And visit those gardens blooming inside.
                                                    ~ Marcia Meara ~

EVENTS

Also wanted to share some upcoming events with you. Just as a heads up for anyone in the Central Florida area, I’m going to be getting back to my wildlife talks at both of my venues next month. If you’re in the area, would love to see you join us. All talks are free and run from 1:00pm to 3:00pm,(tea luncheons excluded).  March schedule as follows:

March 5 from 1:00-3:00 at Enterprise Museum for a talk on the River of Lakes Heritage Corridor, and taking a look at wildlife habitats along this new Scenic Byway.

March 26 from 11:00 – 1:00 Meet the Author Spring Tea at DeBary Hall , $15 per person, reservations required by 3/18. I’ll be doing a Reading and a Question and Answer Session, and then we sip tea and dine on delicious sandwiches and desserts! Always a lovely time!

For more info on locations, etc, feel free to email me: mmeara@cfl.rr.com

UPDATES

And last, a quick update on what’s happening around here. I’m continuing to feel a bit better each day, with my energy level gradually getting closer and closer to normal. Though I’m still not ready to take another look at my Riverbend 4 novel, I have started work on my WRR spinoff novella, Cole, Cole, and Dupree. I’ve actually written real words on a Word document, and shared them on my beta blog!  (And I’m happy to report, my readers seem to have liked them, so far.) Therefore, I’m encouraged to think I might actually get this story finished and published in the not-too-distant future. (Fingers crossed!)

I am also ready to start scheduling regular guests again here on The Write Stuff, for #GuestDayTuesdays, and #TenThingsLists. If you’d like to take part in either of these,  email me to see what dates are available. (You can find more info on the header bar at the top of the page, under General Blog Rules and Various Feature Instructions.) I look forward to having some of you visit in the weeks ahead.

And there you have it, folks: Poetry, Events, and Updates! Thanks for reading and have a wonderful Tewe’s Day!

#ReblogAlert – #Twofer – #ThisWeekOnStoryEmpire and #SmorgasbordWeeklyRoundUp

/ Marcia Meara / 25 Comments

And here it is Sunday once again. Odd how that seems to happen every week about this time, isn’t it? Oh, well … odd or not, it’s time for taking a look at what’s been going on at #StoryEmpire and on Sally Cronin’s #Smorgasbord blog. As usual, it’s great stuff! See for yourselves!

MONDAY: Beem Weeks gets things rolling with his very helpful post entitled Show Don’t Tell. He’s got some great tips and reminders for you, so be sure to check it out HERE.

WEDNESDAY: Mae Clair’s mid-week post is entitled Ebooks and Libraries #Libby #KindleReading, and shares information on what sounds to me like a wonderful app everyone should consider downloading. Check out Mae’s post HERE.

FRIDAY: D. Wallace Peach wraps up the week with Part 2 of her wonderful series on Crafting Rich Characters.  She focuses on three different aspects that need to be considered and how to mix them up so the folks who people your books are realistic and believable. Check it out HERE.

As always, Sally’s Smorgasbord Weekly RoundUp post is filled to the brim with great stuff. Cooking, music, books, videos, you name it! Head on over to be sure you haven’t missed anything this week.

You can check out the Smorgasbord Weekly RoundUp Post HERE

And there you have it for this week!
Happy Reading!

#Excerpt – #TheEmissary – #MegaSale – #AlertTheMedia

/ Marcia Meara / 14 Comments

I’ve been having so much fun finding excerpts to share with you guys, I decided to keep going. Hope you’ll enjoy this scene between the Archangel Azrael and his first Emissary, Jake Daughtry. (It was such fun writing about these two!) Happy Reading!

Chapter 1
“Angel Eyes”
The Jeff Healey Band

~~~

Cowering in Terror,
At That Still-Dark, Still-Deserted Truck Stop,
Halfway Between Here and There.

AZRAEL STOPPED ADVANCING. Jake squinted against the brilliant white glare that surrounded the angel towering over him.

“Do you have to be all bright like that in order to kill me?”

Cocking his head to the side, Azrael bellowed, “What?”

“It’s like staring into the sun. Go ahead and cleave, if you want to, but can’t you do it without first making me blind as well as deaf?”

Azrael grimaced. “Better?” He’d turned the volume down a hundred decibels or so, and the fiery aura surrounding him faded.

Jake nodded. “Okay. Cleave away.”

“You are not making an ounce of sense. Why do you keep going on about cleaving?”

“Off the top of my head, I’d say it’s because that big sword you’re swinging around looks like it was designed for cleaving all over the place.”

Azrael stared at the sword in his hand as though he’d never seen it before, and couldn’t imagine why he was holding it. In a nanosecond, it whooshed out of sight, faster than Luke Skywalker’s light saber.

To Jake’s amazement, Azrael flushed flamingo pink. His golden curls fell back into place around his face, and his size returned to something less monolithic in nature. For a moment, the angel looked as though he might even apologize, but he appeared to think better of it. Instead, he drew himself up straight, squared his shoulders, and cleared his throat.

“I am not going to cleave you in twain, Jake, but do not try my patience again. Perhaps you and I need to have a serious discussion. We do not seem to be . . . on the same page, I believe you would say.”

“A discussion? Is that angelspeak for telling me I can’t quit?” Jake tried to stand, but gasped as his back refused to follow through on that idea.

Azrael scowled. “Emissary in training or not, you are still too fragile. This will have to be corrected.” He waved a hand in Jake’s general direction, and the pain disappeared at once.

Jake scrambled to his feet. He preferred to face Azrael eye to eye, even though it didn’t increase his chances of being able to defend himself from the angel at all. The few bits of power he’d been given would be all but useless against that kind of strength, but standing still felt better than cowering on the ground at the feet of an infuriated behemoth.

“Is the pain gone?” For a fleeting moment, Azrael looked genuinely concerned.

“Mostly. What now?”

“Now we talk. I have put a Pass By compulsion on the entrance to this place, but it would still be more comfortable and quiet in your truck.”

Jake turned to follow Azrael back to the semi, then froze in his tracks. “What the—? You found time between all the thundering, and glowing, and . . . and . . . sword-waving to put the door back on?”

“Nonsense. I was focused on you. The door took care of itself.”

“Huh? What’s that mean?”

“It means your truck heals almost as fast as you do.”

“I heal fast? Since when?”

Azrael’s expression flip-flopped between anger and frustration, finally compromising on irritated resignation. He stalked across the parking lot, and Jake trailed behind, painfully aware he’d just had a narrow escape. Maybe more than one.

A hardheaded temperament and big mouth had gotten Jake in trouble throughout much of his life, and it looked like it would still be a problem in the afterlife, as well. He’d have to work on that—assuming Azrael did not accept his angry resignation.

“What exactly does a ‘Pass By compulsion’ do, if that’s not forbidden knowledge?”

“Knowing what one does is not forbidden. Performing one at your current status level is. Therefore, all I will tell you is that as long as you and I are here, drivers will not notice the exit road and will pass by.”

“Hence, the name.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Jake shook his head. For a liaison angel, Azrael didn’t seem to understand humans all that well, especially their senses of humor, but antagonizing him wasn’t smart. It might be time to shut up, and let the big guy speak his piece. And he would. As soon as he sorted out one or two more things.

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I‘m back, this time to share an excerpt from my first Riverbend book, Swamp Ghosts.  Yep, the big $.99 sale is still going on, and I hope some of you will be intrigued enough by this excerpt to take advantage of this most excellent price! Oh, and please feel free to pass the news of the sale along far and wide, too.  Thanks so much for all your support and encouragement. 

EXCERPT FROM SWAMP GHOSTS: Riverbend Book 1

THE CAR BUMPED and rocked as he drove down the rutted dirt road, steering by a wash of silver light from the gibbous moon. Only a few more nights until it was completely full, making the road nearly as bright as it would be by day, but there was still enough light tonight to see that the way ahead was clear—except for the tall grasses and weeds, indicating no one had driven the road in a long time. That was all the visibility he needed. Not much chance of meeting anyone along such a remote stretch of river, anyway, especially since the state had bought this entire tract of land a few years ago, and chained off all the roads, posting No Access signs everywhere. Still, he wasn’t going to tempt fate by turning on his headlights. Not with what he was carrying in the back on this summer night.

Should be nearing the old canoe launch any time now.

He squinted, peering at the road ahead, waiting to see moonlight on water, and sure enough, there it was. Slowing down, he pulled the SUV into the small turn-around, cut the engine and climbed out, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders to release the tension from the long drive.

The drive’s always the most dangerous part. Too many ways for something to go wrong. Too many things I can’t control. But no need to worry about that now. No one stopped me. No one even noticed me. And here I am. Just me and the mosquitoes.

Of course, that wasn’t true. There were plenty of other things in his immediate vicinity, but he paid no attention to the sounds of a Florida river at night. Green tree frogs and narrow-mouthed toads sang in a shrill chorus, punctuated now and then by the loud “Kronk!” of the much larger pig frogs. Small animals slipping through the palmettos and underbrush rustled here and there. The high-pitched chirps of flying squirrels sounded from the trees, until the soft trill of a screech owl made them take cover. The night was full of noises, all ignored, as he walked to the rear of his vehicle and opened the tailgate. He eyed the bundle inside with irritation.

Hate hauling that dead weight, dammit! May as well get to it, though. It’s not gonna get any lighter while I stand here wasting time.

And with that thought, he dragged the bundle halfway out and lifted it up over one broad shoulder, bending slightly under the load. Then he walked down to the water’s edge and stopped for a brief moment, considering.

Nope. Way too shallow here. Too easy to spot, in case someone ever does paddle this way again.

Instead, he turned to his right and made his way down a narrow and heavily overgrown path that followed the curve of the stream. It was slow going for a hundred yards or more, with branches and palmetto fronds slapping him in the face and scraping at his arms. Sweat trickled down into his eyes, stinging like fury, but even as hot as he was, he was glad he had thought to wear long sleeves. They at least afforded him a bit of protection from scratches and the relentless mosquitoes, which swarmed his head in a hungry cloud. Repellent kept most of them from biting, but it was hard to breathe without sucking them into his mouth or nose, and their humming grew louder with every slow step he took.

Gritting his teeth, he shifted the weight on his shoulder, and plowed ahead.

Seems to be a longer haul each time, but it can’t be much farther now.

He pushed his way through the worst of the underbrush, and there it was—a small open area on a raised embankment, about four feet above the water. He walked to the edge and dumped his burden on the dirt beside him. Taking a deep breath, he stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders once more.

Damn. Ought to be an easier way to do this. Probably is. But not likely to be as efficient.

Untying the lengths of white rope from each end of his bundle, he opened up the blue plastic tarp. For a moment, he admired his handiwork, once again congratulating himself on his hunting skills, and his ability to outsmart the law. Those clowns had no idea who they were up against.

Snickering, he dragged the tarp closer to the water’s edge. He snapped it sharply toward himself, lifting up on the edge of the plastic, and spilling the contents down the bank, where they landed with a splash in the shallow water below. He stood there, folding up the tarp and watching the moonlit surface of the creek. Within seconds, ripples appeared on the other side, rushing toward him, but slowing as they neared his offering. He waited just long enough to watch the huge head come out of the water, jaws wide, before he turned and walked away. The sounds of thrashing and tearing followed him halfway back to his car.

Alligators. Nature’s best garbage disposals. Soon, there won’t be much left of that little package for anyone to find.

He tossed the folded tarp into his car, and climbed in, just as the first fat raindrops began splatting against his dusty windshield. Within seconds, the water was coming down like only a Florida rainstorm can, heavy and fast. It would be over just as quickly as it started, but not before wiping away all traces of his visit.

He snickered again. Right on time, and thank you, Mother Nature. No need to worry about evidence left behind now. It will all be washed away.

He turned the SUV around, and headed back to civilization, smiling the whole way, and wondering how much longer it would be before some sharp-eyed detective or reporter began to connect the dots. He almost wished they would hurry it up, so he could find out what they would call him.

After all…Son of Sam, The Boston Strangler, The Night Stalker…all the good ones have names.

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Hope you enjoyed that little trek through the Florida swamps! To find out more about what’s lurking there, head right on over to Amazon and download your copy of Swamp Ghosts today! Thanks so much for reading along today!